


Mercantile

by Mr Son (MrSon)



Category: Temeraire - Naomi Novik, The Yogscast
Genre: Crossover, Gen, discontinued, dragonsjin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2013-12-18
Packaged: 2018-01-05 02:02:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,426
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088297
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrSon/pseuds/Mr%20Son
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sips is a business man who comes into the care of some dragon eggs. Before he can have them sent off to the aerial corps, one of them hatches, and he now has a baby Anglewing named Sjin on his hands.</p><p>[DISCONTINUED]</p><p>(Note to the Yogscast: Do not read any of my fics on stream.)<br/>(I do not support the Yogscast company. I write because I enjoy the characters.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Hands-On Man

=== === ===

Sips considered himself a hands-on sort of businessman. So when the smuggling operation that was taking place in his dock-side warehouses was discovered, he was there among his men, hauling boxes and separating the illicit goods from his own merchandise.

"Mr. Sips, over here!" A particularly burly man waved Sips over to a crate dusted with sand, next to what seemed to be some form of cobbled-together portable metal stove. He stepped forward to examine the stove. It was an interesting design. He might have to get some of his best inventors looking it over later. How had a bunch of smugglers made something like that? The burly man- what was his name? Jim? John? Jacob? - waved Sips towards the crate again. The lid had been pried off, then set back down on top. Sand was scattered around, and the men were starting to track it everywhere. _What a mess. What an absolute bloody mess_.

"You'd better have a look at this, boss." Maybe-Jim said, lifting the lid from the crate.

Peering inside, Sips saw some sort of lumps mostly buried in the sand. He started to reach out and brush the sand away, but Maybe-Jim caught his hand. "Don't think you should touch those, boss. Don't know how close they are to hatching."

"Hatching?" Sips pulled his hand back and gave the lumps another look. He was pretty sure the man's name was Jim, now. "Jim, are you telling me we have a crate full of dragon eggs in our warehouse?"

Jim seemed embarrassed to answer. "Looks like, boss."

"Huh." Sips untied his neck cloth and used it to gently sweep the sand from the top of an egg. "Thought they'd be bigger."

"Boss, what're we going to do with 'em? We can't just turn them over to the coppers with the rest of the stuff, can we?""

Sips scoffed. "I can send a letter up to the covert. Don't you worry about it Jim, I can handle this. I'm the boss, aren't I?"

Jim shrugged. "Yeah, boss. Sorry 'bout the fuss then. But I thought you should know 'bout the eggs."

"Yeah, yeah." Sips waved a hand lazily through the air. "Thanks for bringing it to my attention. Have the men take them to my townhouse and leave them by the fire. And see if you can get a guy who knows dragons to come have a look at them."

Jim nodded and hustled away to fulfill his orders. Sips looked over the eggs once more, then brushed some sand back onto the one he'd uncovered. "What a day. What an un-bloody-believable day."

\--- --- ---

The letter was written and sent off within the day. A man with a thick, neatly-trimmed white beard came and tutted over the eggs, told Sips to move them closer to the flames, then bustled away with no further advice. Sips jotted down a note to find a different 'guy who knows dragons' if this sort of nonsense ever came up again.

Two days later, a letter arrived stating that a man would be by before the end of the week to pick up the eggs which were nearest to hatching, and a second would arrive in another fortnight for the rest of the lot. Sips read the letter out loud to the eggs, then propped his feet up on his tea table and settled in to take a nap.

Sips was woken by the clatter of a tea tray hitting the ground, and the gasp of one of his servants. He slowly opened his eyes. Was she upset about his feet being on the table? Honestly, when a man can't even prop up his feet on his own bloody tabl-

Was that egg moving?

The servant had her hands clasped over her mouth, staring at the twitching egg. The shattered remains of a teapot and cup lay at her feet, tea seeping into his third-best rug. _Ugh, that's going to be stained forever!_ Sips dragged himself upright and grabbed the egg before it could rock its way off the edge of the chair it had been placed on. He could feel the shell trying to stretch in his hands as the baby dragon struggled to break free.

"Well, aren't you eager to join the workforce?" Sips grinned, sinking his fingers into one of the larger cracks the shell had developed, carefully easing it back until it snapped off from the rest. A tiny claw fell out, and began scratching at the side of the egg, digging shallow lines into the surface. "Hey, take your time, you silly little baby."

The dragon only thrashed more at his words, pushing and clawing until the hole Sips had made opened wide enough to force the egg to split in half. Now free, the dragon slumped in Sips' arms, clearly exhausted from its birth. It slowly rolled it head to the side and blinked a wide, slitted blue eye up at Sips.

"Hello, boss."

Sips blinked back. "Hello to you too, kiddo. Am I going to have to worry about a bunch of your siblings running amok in my house?"

The dragon puffed a tired breath in what sounded like a laugh. "No, boss. I don't have any siblings."

"What, so those other eggs are all fancy decorations or something?" Sips scowled. It was a stupid idea, but smugglers were stupid, and they might have thought they could hide a real dragon egg in a bunch of fake ones. But the real stupid part would be wasting his sitting room chairs for three days on a bunch of round crockery.

The dragon slowly shook its head. "No, those are eggs, boss. But they're all from other dragons."

Before Sips could ask any more questions, he was tapped on the shoulder. Turning, he was confronted by a towel being shoved in his face.

"You should wipe it off before it dries, or it'll need a bath later." said the voice of Sips' housekeeper.

Sips pulled the towel off his face and stared at her. "What? Mary-"

Mary scowled, snatched the towel back, and began rubbing the dragon in his arms down softly. "It's got egg all over it, Master. You shouldn't let it dry like that."

"Oh, right." Sips took the free end of the towel, and started helping dry the baby dragon. Soon, Mary had stepped back and Sips was finished up between the dragon's talons. "There we go. Shiny as a new shilling!"

The dragon giggled, which was a ridiculous sound, and then its belly gurgled. "I'm hungry, boss!" it announced, as if Sips hadn't just figured that out.

"Mary-" Sips began, turning back to his housekeeper, only to have a bowl of stewed fish shoved in his direction.

"That was going to be yours." she told him, "But the little one needs it more than you do, so don't whine when there's no meat with your supper tonight."

Sips raised his chin stiffly and refused to respond as he set the dragon onto the floor and took the bowl from his housekeeper. He placed the bowl down before the dragon, and it sunk its head into the dish.

While it ate, Sips sank himself back into his chair, using the end of his neckcloth to wipe a stray bit of egg goo off his vest. Mary pulled up the edge of her dress for a moment as she stepped over the still-wet tea spill and made her way out of the room.

The dragon released a satisfied belch as it finished off the stew, and awkwardly waddled its way over to Sips, stopping a moment to hiss at his table when it banged its wing on the edge. It reared up and propped its front feet on Sips' knee, stretching its neck out to put its nose barely an inch away from Sips' own. _Geez, fish breath!_

Sips frowned at the dragon. "What now, baby?"

The dragon chirped at him, nuzzling his cheek briefly before pulling back. "Can we go flying, boss?"

Sips scowled. "What? No! It's way too late in the evening you stupid baby. Maybe tomorrow you can run around and play... whatever games baby dragons play."

"Oh, okay." The dragon slumped a moment in disappointment, then hauled its way painfully up onto Sips' lap and curled into a ball. "Can I have more food then too, boss?"

"Sure. We can have breakfast together." Sips chuckled, then shook his head. "What are you calling me 'boss' for anyways? I haven't even hired you yet."

The dragon raised its head from Sips' chest to give him a shocked look. "That's not your name? But everyone calls you that!"

Sips patted the dragon on the head. "That's because I'm their boss, you stupid little baby." he said affectionately. "It's a title, not a name. My name is Christopher Sips. So call me Sips until you're on the payroll, got it?"

"Got it, Sips!" The dragon nodded vigorously, then gave Sips another face nuzzle. "My name is Sjin."

"Good to meet you, Sjin." Sips replied agreeably, than yawned. "Now if you don't mind, I have a nap to finish before supper."

"I don't mind at all, Sips." Sjin answered brightly. "Can I stay here while you nap?"

Sips closed his eyes. "Sure, whatever."

Sjin shifted a bit, settling into Sips' lap, and they both drifted off to sleep.

=== === ===


	2. A Walk In The Woods

=== === ===

Sips woke to the sounds of shuffling fabric and sloppy chewing. He cracked his eyes open and looked around the room. The maid who'd dropped the tea last night was rolling up the stained rug, and Sjin - noticeably larger - was swallowing large pieces of meat from a platter on the tea table. _Ugh, fish again. And raw this time, too_.

Sips dragged himself upright, wincing as his joints creaked and grated from sleeping the whole night in his chair. "If you can't get the stain out, send that to the Sudbury estate." he ordered, before pushing himself upright with a grunt.

The maid jumped a little at his words, clearly surprised he'd awoken, and gave a small bow of her head. "Yes, Master." She shot a nervous glance at Sjin, then returned to rolling the rug.

Sips reached out and gave the dragon a couple pats on the head. "Morning, baby."

"Morning!" Sjin chirped between bites.

Sips stretched out his shoulders with a loud groan. "Oh man, that could have been a more restful night. I can't believe I slept the whole night in that bloody chair."

One of the younger maids peeked her head around the corner, opened her mouth, then vanished with a squeak. Sips chuckled, then called out, "Hurvey! You there, man?!"

The maid with the rug winced at his volume, hefting the rug onto her shoulder and trudging slowly out of the room with it. Just as Sjin was finishing his fish, a dark-eyed man in a neat red vest and sharp trousers stepped into the doorway. "Yes, Master Sips?"

"Ah, there you are, Hurvey!" Sips grinned at his valet. "I plan to spend today out walking with Sjin here." Sips gestured at the dragon. "Put together an outfit for me while we go get scrubbed up, alright?"

Hurvey gave a small bow, and vanished around the corner. Sips scratched the stubble on his cheek and thought for a few moments, ignoring Sjin poking his nose under all the furniture. Sips stuck his head out into the hall and glanced around until he saw his butler sitting by the door, flipping idly through a small book.

"Cotton!" Sips grinned. He'd honestly picked his butler in part because he found the man's name hilarious. "Tell Mary to get one of the housemaids to draw baths for me and Sjin, alright? I'll take them in my room."

Cotton snapped his book closed and stood, bowing deeply, an action that only emphasized his considerable height. "As you say, Master Sips. Will that be all?"

Sips laughed. Cotton was so serious and formal all the time, and it rarely failed to amuse him. "I'll be out for a walk today, so tell any visitors that they'll either need to wait for me, or go talk to Ashville in the office in town."

"Very well." Cotton tucked the book into his shirt pocket and swept away towards the servants' quarters, where Mary the housekeeper was no doubt directing the maids around with her usual brusque efficiency.

Sips smiled to himself at the image, humming cheerfully as he returned to the sitting room. On his second step into the room, he stopped abruptly and stared.

Sjin had pulled down one of the thicker tapestries on the wall, and was shoving at it with his nose, pushing it around on the floor and hissing.

"What the devil are you doing, Sjin?"

Sjin's head jerked up at Sips' voice, and his eyes widened comically. "She was rolling that thing up earlier! I wanted to try too, it looked interesting!"

Sips snorted back a laugh. " Well, that's certainly not how to do it. Come on, we're going for a walk, so quit that." Sips bent down, grunting as his still-stiff back squeaked and complained at him, and picked up the tapestry. He folded it and, pushing aside Sjin's breakfast dish, laid it on the tea table. "Let's go get washed up."

"Alright." Sjin agreed readily, trailing behind Sips as he made his way to his quarters. "I'd like to go outside. It's very interesting in here, but it's so small and I can't stretch my wings without hitting things."

Sips had noticed. Sjin held his wings up awkwardly over his back instead of loose at his sides, and even then he occasionally banged himself on a doorway, or the side of a piece of furniture.

Sips snatched swiftly at the decorative urn before it could fall off the table.

"I'm sorry!" Sjin hunched in on himself, wide blue eyes going watery, his head tucked down against his chest. "I didn't mean to!"

Sips set the urn down on the floor and righted the table Sjin had knocked over. "It's fine, Sjin." he grumbled, "but I don't think you can stay in the house. You're a menace to my furniture."

Sjin wilted. "I'm sorry."

"Oh, quit that." Sips rapped Sjin on the head lightly with his knuckles. "I'm not that angry, you stupid baby. Just be more careful until we can get you outside."

"Okay." Sjin slowly uncurled and slunk after Sips again, glancing guiltily back at the urn. "Was that important?"

Sips scoffed. "Not really, it's just pretty."

Reaching his room, Sips opened the door and was gesturing for Sjin to go through first, when a startled yelp came from inside. He set his hand on Sjin's head to stop him from moving, and looked through. Inside were two washtubs, and a housemaid clutching a bucket before her as if to shield herself.

Her eyes focused on Sips, and she swallowed heavily. "I-... I apologize Master. The beast scared me."

Sips chuckled. "Delicate little thing, aren't you? Sjin's just a tiny baby dragon, there's no need to be afraid of him."

Sjin poked his nose around Sips' side, and the maid squeaked frightfully, knuckles whitening around the bucket's handle.

Sips stood awkwardly in the door for a few moments, then shrugged. "Well, if the water's ready, you can go." He stood aside, and pushed at Sjin's shoulder with a hand until the dragon stood back as well. The maid stared at Sjin, then slowly crept past them and vanished down the hall.

Sips looked after her for a moment. "Didn't know she was an idiot." He pulled the door closed behind them as they entered the room, and started stripping off his clothes. "Time to wash up and get some fresh clothes on, then that walk."

"Yes, Sips!" Sjin chirped.

\--- --- ---

As Sips left his rooms after their baths, Sjin trotting merrily along behind him, they were accosted by the housekeeper.

"For his skin." she said, thrusting a jar of fish oil into Sips' hands. Sips fumbled a moment, then waved it at her.

"What do I do with this?" He tapped the jar with a finger for emphasis. "Just slather it on?"

Mary stared down her nose at him, releasing a small huff of breath. "Their skin gets dry, you need to keep it oiled. I don't know how it's done."

Sips grinned. "You're a lot more helpful than that guy we called in. Why aren't you our 'guy who knows dragons'?"

"I would think _that_ should be obvious, Master." Mary stated with a precisely-portioned drop of distain.

Sips waved a hand in the air dismissively. "Yes, of course. But you understand what I meant. How do you know about dragons?"

Mary's distain melted away into a far-off look. "My brother is an aviator. We exchange letters every month. His stories have taught me a few matters about the creatures."

Sips nodded.

"What's an aviator?" Sjin looked up at Sips, nudging him in the side with his nose.

"Eh..." Sips considered how to explain for a few moments. "They're people who fly on dragons and fight in wars and stuff. They're one of His Majesty's armed forces, and protect England from invaders like Napoleon."

"Oh." Sjin considered this for a few long moments, giving Sips the opportunity to herd him back into the room and find one of the used washcloths. "Are we going to fight in wars, Sips?"

Sips shrugged and cracked open the jar of fish oil, dipping the cloth into it. "You probably will. I don't know about me. I'm sure they can find you a good captain to fight with."

Sjin sagged as Sips started rubbing the oil over him. "I don't know if I want a captain, Sips. Can't I just stay here?"

"Depends on how big you're going to get." Sips grinned down at Sjin, and deliberately dripped a splotch of oil onto the tip of his nose. Sjin went cross-eyed trying to look down his own face, and attempted to splutter a protest, which Sips interrupted by the application of the washcloth to his muzzle. "We'll see how you feel once you've seen some other dragons and their captains. You'll probably want to rush off and enlist straight away."

Sjin shook his head, but submitted himself to Sips' oily attentions.

\--- --- ---

Freshly oiled and finally ready to leave, Sips had Sjin squeeze his way out of the front door first. Sjin had to stretch his wings out behind him to avoid scraping his scales, and Sips wondered where he could keep the dragon, who was clearly too large to stay inside the house another night. Sips was turning to consider the stables, when Sjin stepped into the sunlight and caught his attention.

He had thought Sjin was a dull, mustardy-yellow color, but the sun belied that notion. The dragon shone a dazzling gold, dabbled with soft oranges and browns. He looked like the sun through autumn leaves. Stretching his wings, the sunlight shone through the membranes, making him look as if he was lit on fire from within.

Sjin seemed to sense Sips' distraction, and craned his neck back to look at him. "What's the matter, Sips?"

Sips shook himself. "Nothing important. You look different in the light, is all." He made his way down the steps to join Sjin on the front walk. "We'll be going off to the north-east." He pointed loosely. "Say something if you get tired and we'll come back."

Sjin bobbed his head in easy agreement, then caught sight of his shadow on the ground and began waving his wings around, watching the shifting light. Sips reached over and cuffed him lightly on the head. "Come on, stupid."

Sips started off in an easy gait, and after a moment heard Sjin's claws scraping the paving stones as he hurried to catch up.

Their walk was slow, as Sjin insisted on stopping to examine everything that caught his interest. He tilted his head in all directions around a tree to observe the shelf mushrooms making steps up the trunk. He stuck his head in a patch of rustling ivy, and Sips watched a panicked mouse escape the leaves and tuck itself into a nearby tangle of briars. He reared up against a tree to try and watch a squirrel more closely as it darted from branch to branch, clearly upset at the attention. He even pawed at the wildgrass that grew in the scattered small clearings, giggling at the way the grass bent and sprung back into place. Sips still thought the giggling sounded ridiculous.

He also asked questions. Obvious questions, like "What is this?", which Sips could answer with a simple "Oak tree.", and harder ones, like "Why is the ivy shaped like that?", which Sips usually answered with an "I don't know, it just grows that way.".

It was afternoon when they came to the far end of the woods, where the trees gave way to farmland. A dirt track traced the edge of the tree-line, dividing Sips' lands from the cattle meadow and the apple orchard that were both in front of them, a branch of the road splitting off and separating them both from each other as well.

At the edge of the orchard, a farmer was up on a ladder, sawing branches off one of the trees at the edge of the lot. Sjin peered at the man with wide, curious eyes. "What's he doing, Sips?"

"Cutting branches off his trees. It's called pruning. Don't ask me why it's done, I'm no farmer."

Sjin considered that. "Can we ask him?"

Sips shrugged. "Sure."

Sips crossed the road and approached the farmer, dredging up his public manners. "Hello, good man, how are you doing this fine day?"

The farmer paused his sawing to look down at Sips. Seeing someone dressed so finely, he snatched off his hat and pressed it to his chest. "M'lord, I apologize for not seeing your approach." 

Sips waved off the apology. "I'm not a lord, I just have some wealth to my name. If you don't mind, I would like to take a bit of your time with a few questions."

"Of course, Mister." the farmer agreed, hanging his saw at his belt and making his way down the ladder. At the bottom, he paused on catching sight of Sjin, who was looking at Sips with confusion.

"Why are you talking like that?" Sjin asked.

Sips patted him on the head. "It's called manners, Sjin. They're for important people and strangers. They help people like you and that's good for business."

"Oh." Sjin picked at the ground a little. "Would you teach me manners, Sjin? I want people to like me."

"Sure." Sips turned his attention back to the farmer, who seemed a bit taken aback by the conversation. "My name is Christopher Sips, and I live in the house on the other side of the woods. This is Sjin." He gestured to the dragon, who regarded the farmer curiously.

"Ah, my name is Henry Potter, Misters." The farmer seemed slightly more comfortable with the introduction. "You're the one who owns that place? I thought it was some London noble's winter manor."

"I admit to living most of my time in London," Sips said with an acknowledging tilt of his head, "but I'm no gentleman."

Mr. Potter grinned at him. "Well, what were your questions for me, Mr. Sips?"

"Sjin?" Sips poked the dragon in the shoulder. "Ask him your questions."

Sjin perked up, leaning towards the farmer, who took a nervous step back. "Why are you cutting the trees?"

Mr. Potter gave a fake cough into a fist, clearly composing himself. "Ah, some of the trees were sickly this fall, and the branches are dying in the cold weather. I'm cutting off the dead and dying branches to use as firewood."

Sips rubbed his chin. "May I see a branch?"

Mr. Potter was obviously surprised by the question, but he fetched one of the cut branches for Sips to examine.

Sips turned the branch over in his hands. The wood was streaked with a greenish tinge, but seemed firm and sturdy. _Some of my carpenters might be interested in off-season applewood with an unusual color_. Sips nodded sharply. "How much for every branch at least five inches around?"

Mr. Potter stared. "Pardon me?"

"I'd like to purchase your wood." Sips said, "How much would you like for it? If you need the firewood, I can add in permission to take one of the trees from my land."

Mr. Potter coughed into his fist again, several times. "I- ah... I-"

After some hemming and hawing, Mr. Potter finally managed to get out a number. Sips gave another sharp nod. "If you gather all the suitable pieces at this end of orchard, I'll have someone come by to pick it up and deliver your payment. When would you have them ready?"

"Thank you, Mr. Sips." Mr. Potter managed to get out, sounding a bit strangled, "It should be another day to finish the job. I was mostly done with the cutting. Tomorrow after tea, perhaps."

Sips grinned. "Excellent! Pleasure to do business with you, Mr. Potter. I think it's time to head home, Sjin. I'd wager you're pretty hungry."

Sjin bobbed his head. "Yes!"

They turned back towards the trees, leaving a slightly dazed farmer in their wake.

Sjin's questions were of an entirely different nature on the walk back.

"What was that you did back there? Purchasing his wood?"

Sips patted him on the head. "I'm a businessman. I buy and sell things to make money. I'll have the people who work for me make the wood into things people want to buy."

"What's money and why do you want it?"

Sips groaned. _Am I really going to have to teach a dragon about money?_ Sips glanced at Sjin, who was waiting expectantly for his answer, wide blue eyes blinking far less often than Sips felt they should. _Damn it_.

"Well, people don't like doing work for nothing, so if you want people to do something for you, you have to give them something in return." Sips started, glancing at Sjin to see if the dragon was following the explanation, but couldn't read anything in his face but endless curiosity. _Those eyes are too damned blue_. "Right. So, it used to be, you'd give them things they needed, like clothes and food and stuff. But its hard to go around with an armful of trousers asking if anyone wants to make you a new door for your house. And sometimes you find a person who'll make you a door, but they want food and you only have trousers."

"So people started saying, look, I make trousers, and I'll give you this note saying I'll make trousers for anyone who hands me the note. You take this note and make my door, and when you need something from someone else, you can give them the note and they can get trousers from me. So people were trading all these complicated mess of notes. It was such a mess. 'I'll give you all my egg notes for a hat-maker note. I need to visit the hat-maker tomorrow' and stuff like that."

"So people started having special people handle all their notes because they didn't want to deal with it any more. And a bunch of these note-handlers got together and decided 'what if we made the notes ourselves? Then all the notes would be the same type and everything would get simpler.', and they did that."

Sips paused to pull out his coin purse and dig out a couple pennies and a shilling. He held them out for Sjin to peer at, flipping them over so the dragon could see both sides. "These are little metal notes called coins. These ones are pennies." He pointed. "Also called pence. This one here is a shilling. A shilling is worth twelve pence. I've also got several more types of coins in here, but I'll tell you about them later. I don't want to lose any out here, it's getting harder to get good coins these days." Sips slipped the coins back into his purse and tucked it away.

"Why's it getting harder, Sips?"

"The people in charge of making the notes having been making as many. It's probably because of Napoleon. All the money is going to the king and His Majesty's forces."

"Why didn't you give that man your coins for his wood? Why are you getting it later?"

Sips laughed. "Sjin, you think I could hold that much wood all the way home? Do I look like a cart horse to you? Don't answer that. Besides, like this is enough for all the wood I'm going to get from him." Sips patted the clothing over his coin purse, making a muffled jingle. "Also, I want to surprise him with that tree permission he didn't ask for."

"What for?"

"It's all about business sense, Sjin. A man like me has to know when to give more than he's asked for. You go past people's expectations and they'll keep coming back to you again and again, and you get more business that way. Next time that farmer has extra wood, he'll think of me, and I'll get more materials for my men to work with and they can make me more things to sell. It all comes around in the end. A great big circle of 'Sips gets everything he wants'."

Sjin nodded, visibly mulling over everything he'd been told so far. "Can you teach me more about business, too? It sounds really useful."

Sips grinned. "Sure thing. Tell you what: You get good enough at this stuff, you can be my business partner."

Sjin chirped happily. "That sounds nice, Sips! I'd like that!"

Sips dropped his hand onto Sjin's head, giving him a brief scratch behind his eye ridges.

_I think I'm going to like having this guy around_.

=== === ===


	3. Mutton For Tea

I would like to thank any Regency buffs out there who may be reading this and resisting the urge to gut me with spoons. Your clemency is appreciated.

=== === ===

When Sips and Sjin emerged from the woods, there was a page sitting on the front step, tossing his cap into the air and catching it again, his face a canvas of boredom. When he saw Sips, he immediately stood.

"Master Sips! A man came to see you about an hour ago. He's in the sitting room, waiting. Mr. Cotton told him you'd speak with him over tea." The boy spoke quickly, darting glances at Sjin between sentences, his expressions openly curious.

Sips gave the kid a nod as he walked up to steps. "Thank you for telling us. Go let Mary know I'm back."

The boy started nodding, then frowned seriously. "She's right mad at you, Master Sips. She said you've skipped two meals now and said if you miss your tea she'll be forced to resist the urge to put you over her knee!" He paled abruptly. "Um. I think I wasn't supposed to tell you that bit, Master Sips."

Sips laughed and reached out to ruffle the boy's hair, earning a startled squawk. "I won't tell Mary you told me." He turned to look at Sjin, who was sitting on the steps, tracing the lines between the paving stones with a claw. "You'll have to wait for me for a while, Sjin. I probably won't be out again until evening. Don't bother the horses."

"Alright." Sjin agreed, then looked up with a confused frown. "What's a horse?"

"The animals in there." Sips pointed towards the stables. "Just leave that whole building alone." He turned to speak to the boy again. "Sjin's going to need something to eat as well."

The boy nodded and spoke before Sips could finish. "They had Mr. Hardwick run down to the shepard's and get a lamb while you were out, Master Sips. I'll tell them to bring it out and slaughter it."

The boy was gone around the corner of the house before Sips could respond.

"I'll be out this evening to find you a place to stay for the night, alright, Sjin?"

Sjin nodded. "Can I go flying a bit while you're gone?"

Sips considered for a moment. "Sure. But stay close to the house. And eat your lamb, first. You don't want to get all fuzzy-headed from hunger while you're up in the air. You'll fall and I'll need to have all your bits cleaned off my nice rooftop."

Sjin's nod this time was very deliberate and serious. "I'll be careful, Sips."

Sips patted Sjin on the head. "Alright. See you in a while."

Inside the house, Sips was hit by the scent of roasted mutton drifting from the kitchens. Apparently his servants hadn't sent for only a lamb. Mutton was rather heavy for tea, but he supposed that Mary was making up for his skipped meals. She'd done similar in the past when he'd under-ate while focused on his work.

Sips hurried to his rooms, where his valet was waiting with fancy clothes suitable for the meeting. Sips sat on the side of his bed and let Hurvey give his hair a quick brushing, and then stood to have his clothes put on. A dark blue vest went over a powder blue shirt, followed by a snug peacock green and blue coat with curved lines embroidered at the cuffs, reminiscent of flowing water. Sips scowled as Hurvey picked up one of his stiffest neckcloths to finish the ensemble, but lifted his chin and allowed it to be tied and pinned.

"I feel like a stuffed duck." he grumped. Hurvey ignored the common complaint.

Stepping back to give Sips a look over, Hurvey nodded his satisfaction with his work. "When you're ready, Master Sips. The pages will be in with your meal shortly after you join Captain Burges."

"Is that his name?" Sips asked, distracted by the urge to loosen his collar. "Why the devil would a Captain want to see me?"

"I imagine, Master Sips, that it may have something to do with the eggs you liberated from the smugglers, if I have any understanding of the matter."

Sips nodded. "Oh, an aviator Captain. They must have sent one of those little courier dragons. I'm sure that Sjin will be delighted."

Sips then made his way to the sitting room, where on entering, he found Captain Burges sitting on the chair that Sjin's egg had once been on.

Burges was a short, somewhat plump man, with messy hair and a rumpled look to his dress. Sips felt a flash of annoyance at having to have be dressed so finely over a man who clearly hadn't a great interest in his own, or presumable others', looks.

Burges rose at Sips' entrance. "You must be Mr. Sips!" He held out his hand, and when Sips took it, shook firmly and with enthusiasm. "Thank you for seeing me on such short notice."

"It's not an issue, Captain Burges." Sips answered. "But come, do sit and we can talk more easily."

At Sips' gesture to the chairs, Burges took his again, and Sips settled across from him.

Rather than speak immediately, Burges twisted his hands together somewhat, and looked at the six chairs still ringed around the fireplace, an egg on each.

When the Captain finally spoke, it was direct to the point of rudeness. "Mr. Sips, I've come to look over the eggs and see if any are close to hatching and must be taken to the covert immediately. We can't spare proper transport at the moment, but I can fly one or two on Properatus if it's needed."

Sips took a moment to consider whether, given the man's clear disregard for standard propriety, he could get away with propping his feet on the tea table. _Oh wait, we're going to be eating shortly. On that table_. So much for that. "I presume you've taken the time to examine their condition while waiting for my return. Would you say you'll need to take any now?"

Burges shook his head. "No, none of them have hardened, so it should be safe to wait for a proper, more secure transport to be available." Burges gave the eggs another look over. "Mr. Sips, if I may speak freely..."

Sips gave an assenting head tilt.

"I was told to expect seven eggs. Was one of them lost?" Burges' voice was quiet in the asking. He seemed genuinely sad at the thought.

"It was not." Sips was about to explain the situation, when the pages came into the room, bringing covered plates smelling of mutton and carrots.

Burges lit up at the sight. "Oh, bless you for letting me take this meal with you! I haven't had a proper mutton in ages. Every time I see a sheep it's going into Properatus's bottomless stomach."

The pages set out the dishes and silverware, sneaking curious glances at Burges. Most of them had never seen an aviator up close before, and it was clear that they found serving one to be exciting.

"That's your dragon's name?" Sips asked as he cut into his meat.

"Indeed. Most of the other Captains who give their beasts long names call them something shorter, but I named my little Greyling Properatus, and Properatus is his name."

Burges seemed exceedingly proud of this information, and Sips politely didn't say that the name sounded right stuffy and ridiculous. Instead, he asked, "So dragons don't typically come with names?"

Burges seemed startled. "Why, no. Almost never. Whyever would you think they did?"

Sips swallowed a bite of his mutton and chased it with a sip from his glass before answering. "The seventh egg hatched last night. The dragon introduced himself to me as Sjin."

Burges frowned thoughtfully, and began pulling at the tip of his curled black beard. "That's certainly unusual. You said in your letter that the eggs were recovered from smugglers?" He paused for Sips to nod. "Well, I suppose they could have been naming the eggs out of a sense of fancy. Dragons learn while they're still in the shell, you see. That's how they can speak so easily when newly hatched. I think I recall hearing of a similar case occurring before my time, up in one of the Northerly coverts. Some young boy was sneaking in to speak to the eggs at night, talking to them as someone might write in their journal. He was caught and kept out long before it came time for the hatching, but three of the dragons hatched insisting on having names of historic figures he'd told them stories about!"

Burges chuckled to himself cheerfully, then shook his head and turned serious again. "If the hatchling's gone feral, we'll need to send it off to the breeding grounds. It's a shame to lose it, but at least there's still six in the shell for the Corps."

Sjin swallowed his mouthful of peas. "Captain, Sjin hasn't gone feral. He is waiting outside until I can return to him and find a place for him to sleep the night, as he is too large to stay in the house as he did last night."

Burges stared at Sips, who took the silence as an excuse to feed himself some more mutton. "I believe I would like to have a look at this dragon." he mumbled into his mustache.

Sips felt comfortable enough insisting, "Once we've finished our meal."

Burges didn't even frown at the rudeness, but nodded. "Indeed, it would be a waste to leave this fine meal to go cold."

\--- --- ----

Once they'd finished their meal, Sips led Burges outside, where he could see Sjin's autumn colors flitting about over the trees.

"Are you sure he's not gone feral?" Burges muttered, half to himself. Sips ignored him to cup his hands around his mouth.

"SJIN!" he bellowed, and at his call, the young dragon peeled left and looped back around towards the house, landing with a great thump on the grass beside the path.

"Sips!" Sjin trotted up to Sips, giving him a nudge in the chest with his nose. "I love flying! It's so very exciting, and you can see everywhere! And I ate my lamb first, just like you said."

Sips patted Sjin on the head. "Glad you had fun, Sjin. This is Captain Burges."

Sjin's head rose sharply, and before Burges could get out a word of greeting, Sjin had stepped back and half behind Sips, looking like a shy wolfhound trying to hide behind a fence post. "A Captain? You're not sending me away, are you, Sips?"

Sips shook his head with bemusement. "Of course not, you stupid baby. The Captain is here to see the eggs. They'll be taking them away in about a fortnight."

"Possibly sooner." Burges corrected, then offered Sjin a friendly smile. "He's a lovely little Anglewing. Slightly unusual coloring, but good form for his age."

"Unusual coloring?" Sjin looked down at Sjin's mottled-autumn hide. "Is that a bad sign?"

Burges shook his head. "No, I simply meant that most Anglewings have certain patterns to their coat that are common in the breed, and this little guy doesn't match any of them. The actual colors are the same. Those eyes are strange, though. You don't often see a blue like that. He must have gotten something else in his lines at some point."

Sips' hand landed on Sjin's shoulder, and he felt tension in the little dragon's careful stillness. "Well, at least he came out pretty, didn't he? I suppose I'll have to get used to having a bit of a queer dragon." Sips' tone was easy and he felt Sjin relaxing under his touch.

Burges started. "Surely you don't mean to keep him, Mr. Sips? At full growth an Anglewing can weigh fifteen tons, and it's quite an expense to feed them."

Sips nodded gravely. "There's certainly a heavy cost involved with keeping such an animal, I understand. Which is why I've come to my decision on the matter earlier today."

Burges puffed himself up slightly. "So shall he be coming to the covert with me, then?"

Sips shook his head, his hand still resting comfortingly on Sjin's shoulder. "He shant. He'll be going to the covert with _me_. Do send word ahead that I'll be joining the Aerial Corps, if you please."

Burges spluttering was one of his favorite moments of the day.

That night, Sips showed Sjin into the hay barn behind the stables, where the feed and tools for the horses were kept. With Sjin's help, some of the hay was dragged down form the loft and spread over the middle of the floor, and Sjin curled up upon it.

"It's not as soft as you are, Sips." Sjin noted, patting at his bedding and listening to it crunch. "I suppose I no longer fit on you, though."

"Yeah." Sips agreed. Sjin had grown even more between his afternoon flight, and the two chickens they given him for supper an hour ago. "You're not exactly a ladies lap dog."

"It might be nice to be a lap dog." Sjin mused. "I don't know what a dog is, but if I could sit on your lap, that would be lovely. Oh, but can dogs go flying?"

"Only if you kick them, and not far then."

Sjin tilted his head. "Is that a no? I suppose I wouldn't like being a dog, then." He sunk his head down into the straw. "Sips, the Captain said I might be fifteen tons, is that very large?"

Sips nodded. "It's a whole mess of large. You won't fit in the barn when you're that big."

Sjin rolled onto his side. "Does that mean I'll be big enough that I could carry you when I fly?"

"Sure. Me and a whole crew. When we join the Corps, we'll have a whole team on your back. I've seen them patrolling over the water sometimes when I was in Dover. All covered in netting and aviators." Sips sat down and laid his back against Sjin's side. "You'll love it, all those folk whose job it is to pay attention to you."

Sjin's eyes were drifting closed, and his last words came out groggily. "As long as you're there, I'm sure it'll be great."

Sips spent a whole hour leaned against his sleeping dragon before finally heading to the house for bed. When he got under the covers, it felt inexplicably lonely.

=== === ===

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing Regency Sips is a matter of great headache-inducingness. Mostly I'm trying to define a difference between him speaking naturally and more Sips-like, and when he's being polite to someone.
> 
> In the modern era a business man could get away with being brusque and he might seem charmingly no-nonsense. Manners seem fluff and empty of meaning, a waste of time that could be spend _actually_ talking (a frame of thought that posits anything said for the sake of politeness is not true conversation).
> 
> In the Regency era, a man without fine manners could never keep a business for more than the lesser commoners. If you discarded protocol for expediency in your affairs, the best customers would find you nothing but rude and boorish. And as my version of Sips would see it, your manners are part of your marketing. Something you do not for its own sake, but to keep people engaged with yourself and what you do.
> 
> In the end, what this means is that as long as I write Mercantile, I'll need to grit my teeth, keep some painkillers on hand, and suck it up. And possibly prepare a shield to deflect the tomatoes from angry Yognauts who dislike how I'm writing Sips almost as much as I do.
> 
>  
> 
> ETA: These chapters are getting rewritten at least somewhat before I continue. Especially the end of chapter 3. I beg your patience for the delay, and thank you for reading.


End file.
